The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,108
to do. Very carefully, she lifted her hands and blew the seeds of magic toward the sleeping Arboreal.
They were captivating to watch, almost ghostly in their movements. The first one reached Boris and landed lightly on a blue-green leaf; the others seemed to take its command and followed suit. Soon her leaves were dotted with tiny shimmering lights, the seedlings’ feathery hairs pulsing in the air. And then they began to melt, leaving a farewell flash of silver before vanishing.
Boris made a noise that sounded to Sera like a person being awoken abruptly from a dream, if that person was a tree—a shocked creaking groan, like a large branch bending before snapping.
“Seeds of life,” Boris said. “Seeds of love in my leaves, in my roots, in my trunk. How I missed you.”
“H-hello,” Sera stammered. Her voice once again had a slightly different timbre in her ears, but instead of a higher pitch, it was low and rustling. “My name is Sera Lighthaven, and I—can you hear me? Can you understand my words?”
Boris looked at her with her three wise eyes and she felt like a little girl again, because despite Boris’s small stature, Sera had the overwhelming feeling she was looking into the eyes of something as ancient as the High Priestess.
“She speaks the wind,” Boris gasped.
“I—yes, I speak the wind.” Sera was delighted. “Do you know of the island of Braxos? And the temple on it?”
“I know you,” Boris said, the same refrain Sera had heard her say before. “And you know me.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know you and you know me. But the mertag who lives in the pond says you know the island with the stone temple on it.”
Boris turned her leaves back and forth as a woman might when examining a new ring on her finger. “The first seeds came from the island. Seeds of life and love. Seeds to grow hope and replenish. I have not seen a seed in many, many years and I am old, older than the men in this false forest, older than the fish in that false pond. The Arboreals have become small and few. The island fades from our minds and hearts. I fear this world is not as it once was.”
“But what is it?” Sera asked, her patience straining. “Have you seen the tether? Is that where the seeds came from?”
It seemed to her that the tree frowned. “The island lives in all of us, as it lived in our Mother. We are all connected. Even the fish. Even Sera Lighthaven.”
Sera pressed her forehead against the crate slats. Boris could not help her; she could only tell Sera what she had already guessed. She stared down at her palms and wished her magic could make her fly. Then she could get to Pelago or anywhere else.
“Mother Sun,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. “What am I supposed to do? Please. Help me.”
“Hush now, little sapling,” Boris said, and her words were like a song. “Hush now, don’t cry. All will be well.”
But Sera could not see how. Errol and Boris might know the island, but neither of them could get her there.
Boris began to hum then, a gentle melody like a child’s song, and it reminded Sera of the tune her purple mother used to play on the harp in the morning, a call for the dwelling to wake.
A light appeared at the base of Boris’s trunk, not silver like the dandelion seeds, but golden yellow. Sera couldn’t tell what it was, exactly, except that it was small and thin, no bigger than her littlest finger. Then it began to move, scuttling across the wooden platform toward her like an insect, and when it reached the crate, it crawled through the slats and hopped up to perch on her knee.
It was an odd-looking creature; a golden blade of grass with arms and legs and a tiny crown on its head. It gazed at her with wide yellow eyes, then did a little dance on her kneecap, finishing with a sweeping bow and doffing its crown. Sera could not help herself—she smiled and applauded. It felt like what was being asked of her. The creature beamed and put its crown back on.
“She knows you,” Boris whispered, and she sounded so tired. “And you know her. But she will not stay for long.”
Even as the tree spoke, the little grass creature began to fade, pieces of it disintegrating until nothing but golden dust remained.